


Don't Dream its Over

by jbo3122



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:57:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbo3122/pseuds/jbo3122
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry dreams the same dream every night.  But what does it mean?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Dream its Over

It started near the end of the first tour. The crowds outside the hotels got larger and louder. While the rest of the boys had trouble sleeping, I didn't. I wish I had though. Because at this point I'm sure not sleeping would be a better alternative to my dreams that have turned into nightmares.

Its the same dream every night. I dream of the crowd outside our hotel. It starts off quite pleasant. Tons of girls chanting “One Direction, One Direction!” I don't think hearing that kind of enthusiasm could ever get old. In fact, it gets me pumped up, even in my dreams. In my dream I'm walking through the crowd, shaking hands, signing autographs, things that have oddly become normal for me. But then something happens. Everything becomes a little darker, the chanting a little fainter. A young girl hands me a green sharpie to sign a poster with, then the girl's face becomes blurred and eventually there is nothing to be heard. And then it happens. I shot rings out and suddenly I'm on the ground. Everyone disappears and I am alone, bleeding onto the sidewalk. And then I wake up. 

The same dream, every night. Same faces, same sounds, nothing is ever different. 

“Harry?” Cressida calls, startling me out of my trance. I look up at her, not realizing what time it was.

“Charles is ready for you,” she says, nodding her head towards the front of the bus.

I make my way to the front of the bus and sit down at the table where the computer is open and Charles is waiting for me via Skype. Charles is our therapist. After we hit it big in America, Simon insisted we see a therapist on a regular basis to help us cope with our new found fame. I hate the word famous and all that it entails. I am the same person I have always been and always will be. However, I am glad for therapy. I released quickly after my first session with Charles that I should have been in therapy a long time ago, probably should have started after my parent's divorce. You may think you have a grasp on things but you never really know until you start talking. 

“Hi, Harry. How are you doing today?”

“I'm alright Charles, how are you?”

We exchange our usual pleasantries but Charles never wastes time getting down to business. We discussed the current debacle of Louis and Zayn's little video. It doesn't bother me. This is really a non-issue but Charles thinks that we should discuss it further. I shut him down though, because frankly I'm tired of talking about it. Its done, its over. Its not the end of the world. 

“Still having that dream of being shot?” Charles asks. I told him him about it a few months ago because I thought as a therapist he might have some magic answer. He did not.

“Every night, same dream.”

“And how are you coping with that? Is it affecting you in any way?”

“At this point Charles it has become the norm. I have come to expect it, and if I ever don't have that dream, then I might become a little wary.”

“When you get back to London, there is a dream group I want you to go to,” Charles says, clearly not happy with my answer.

I don't argue, because I know that if that is what he is prescribing it is what I have to do. So I agree and we say our goodbyes. An hour later I have the details regarding the dream group. Like I said, Charles wastes no time.

A week later we are back home in London. It feels good to be home. Thankfully, Charles gave me a few days of rest before scheduling me with the dream group. Just as I am heading out the door to attend the session my phone rings. Its Louis. 

“Hey, man. Long time, no talk” he says in an unusually chipper tone. He must be high.

“Its been 3 days, mate, and I sent you some texts and you didn't answer,” I said with frustration. We use to be so close, to the point that we would die for each other. Now, I'm not so sure. 

“Well, what are you doing then?”

I think about lying to him because I know what his response will be. But I don't. He should know, if he still cares like he used to, he should know that things have gotten to this point.

“I'm headed to a group therapy session, a dream group, actually,” I say.

“Still having that silly dream? You know it doesn't mean anything. I think Charles is being a little overzealous,” he says with a chuckle.

Normally I'd just let it go but I can't, “Have you been to your first NA meeting yet?”

Silence. This was a sore subject for him and for Zayn. Charles does not mess around. Its clear, even to me, that the two of them need to get their shit together. The rest of us have, so why should they be excluded?

He makes up some excuse that one of his sisters is beeping in so we hang up. I know I pissed him off. Ever since the Larry stuff blew up he's put a wall up, and when I told him about this dream he had made fun of me. 

The others didn't necessarily make fun of me but they didn't take it too seriously either. I may act like its not a big deal, but it is. This dream really troubles me and I have no support from the 4 people that I really count on. My mum worries, but she a mum and that's what they do. Gemma is constantly trying to psychoanalyze every single thing I do, she thinks since she went to Uni and got a degree that she knows more than I do.

I just need someone to listen. Up to this point I have refused to research on the internet. I thought about buying a book about dreams but that seemed a little ridiculous. Charles has tried but for whatever reason I have been resistant to his efforts, even though I want answers.

Nerves take over me as I reach the building for the Dream Group. Not because I'm Harry Styles and there is a good chance everyone will know who I am, although Charles made it very clear that everyone has to sign a confidentially agreement, no that is not what my nerves are about today. The fact that I might get answers is what has my stomach in knots.

Upon entering the room, I feel like a thousand eyes are on me. I find a seat among the chairs that are arranged in a circle and take my notebook and a pen out of my rucksack. I take note that everyone stares at whomever walks through the door. This eases my mind some, but the whispering among the other group members is deafening. 

The leader, Camille calls for everyone's attention and introduces herself. She goes on to explain how the group works. Each of us will take a turn. We will introduce ourselves and then share, in detail, our dream that troubles us. Anyone who wishes to comment will respond with “If it was my dream, I think it would mean....” I found it interesting that there was a protocol for explaining your thoughts on the meaning of a dream but Camille explained that the idea was not to project our thoughts onto one another but to explain what we thought the dream meant if it was our own. The goal is to make you think outside of the box on all possibilities of meaning. 

“Before we begin, I'd like to discuss the idea of 'A dream is a wish your heart makes'--I know you are all familiar with that particular Disney song. Ask yourselves as you listen today, are these dreams really wishes? I think you'll find the answer is 'no'” Camille said before asking for the first volunteer.

Was my dream a wish? Certainly not, I do not wish to be shot. I go through the lyrics of the song in my head, pondering the notion of a dream being a wish from your heart. I sit, listening to the others discuss their dreams and the responses that are given by the other group members. I jot some notes down in my notebook on things I think are interesting. When it was my turn, I introduced myself, anticipating some sort of response from the group, a snicker, or an eye roll but I got nothing. This was helpful to me. They were going to treat me just like anyone else in the room and that felt good. It has been a long time since I introduced myself to someone and they didn't make a fuss over me. I went on to explain my dream.

After I share my dream the group stays quiet. I start to get nervous that no one is responding. My eyes dart around the room, hoping, praying that someone has something to say. 

Finally Camille responds. “If I had a dream that I was being shot, I think it would mean that I feel trapped, and that there is no way out.”

I thought about it for a moment. Never have I felt that way when I'm walking through a sea of screaming girls. Niall, he feels that way, but that's because he is claustrophobic. 

Another girl finally responds, “If I had a dream I was being shot, I think it would mean that I am experiencing some sort of confrontation in my waking life. Maybe I am feeling victimized in a situation.” 

“Very good response. Harry? Does this help at all?” Camille asks.

“Yes, I believe it does,” I say. Camille thanks everyone for coming and ends the meeting. I am left pondering both responses as they are both pliable. Tomorrow I will meet with Charles to discuss further.

Charles is interested in the idea of me feeling victimized. I tell him that if I knew who was shooting me in the dream that it would make sense. But because it always happens when I am among a sea of Directioners I don't feel like this is the answer. They don't victimize me. Charles throws out the Larry situation but I disregard that right away. That never bothered me, Louis was the one who had the issue with it all. 

Charles and I don't get much farther before our time is up. That night I can't turn my mind off as I keep thinking about the dream group and my session with Charles. I wrack my brain for answers but I come up with nothing. Eventually I drift off to sleep, and my dream comes and goes like it always does.

A week later we are back on tour. The dream continues, and I continue to search for answers. Each time I am in crowd of people I become more and more anxious. Paranoia has started to take over my brain. There is this gut feeling that I can't shake either. I try pushing it all away, I even contemplate joining Louis and Zayn for a smoke, but I am too stubborn and insist on staying in control on my own. 

As the tour continues my paranoia worsens. And then it happens. We are in America and its like deja vu. We are in Chicago, staying at the Conrad on Michigan Avenue. I walk out of the hotel into the crowd and greet everyone that I can, and I realize I have seen all of these faces before, not because I had actually seen them but because I had seen them in my dream. I try to ignore it but I can't. Then a little girl hands me a green sharpie to sign her poster and my stomach churns, because I know what happens next. 

I wake up a few hours later at Lakeshore Hospital. Paul tells me I was shot in the side and they had to remove my spleen. Apparently I didn't need it anyway. The shooter was on top of the Macy's building and was gunning for all of us. Chicago PD arrested the shooter, a 20 year old male who admitted to everything, stating that we are the worse band he's ever heard and that he had this planned for weeks.

A few hours and a million test later I am allowed visitors. Louis is the first to greet me and apologizes profusely for being such a wanker. The next morning my mum has arrived and I am grateful to see her beautiful, smiling face. I tell her I am fine, and that I never die in my dream so she needs to not worry.

Two days later my mum is making funeral arrangements. A blood clot formed and traveled to my heart before the doctors could do anything about it. I died from cardiac arrest. If only it were just a dream.


End file.
